


When it All Comes Crashing

by burymeinziam



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: End of the World, M/M, Major Illness, Suicide, i dont even know, there is some implied narry but its barely there and hardly worth mentioning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 08:04:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3022712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burymeinziam/pseuds/burymeinziam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it's the end of the world and everyone is sick and it seems like the boys are the only ones left</p>
            </blockquote>





	When it All Comes Crashing

Zayn likes to burn holes into his skin.

His forearms are littered with the small circular burn marks, the same size as the Marlboros he used to steal from his father’s nightstand.

Most of the time he presses the hot end of the stick to his skin because it reminds him that he’s alive and capable of feeling (because Zayn often feels numb; so numb), but others it’s to remind himself of home and the way his father used to call him a “useless little faggot” just before he’d rip his half spent cigarette from his lips so he could put it out against Zayn’s arm. He used to cry because it burned, but now Zayn only sighs and wishes he could go back because as miserable as home once was, it was better than being stuck in a shitty motel waiting for the end of the world.

The thing is, Zayn doesn’t even really know how he got here. People just started getting sick and before he knew it they were passing out masks at school and making news broadcasts about contamination. Before Zayn knew it his mother was coughing up blood and his father was out cold in the bedroom upstairs, a cigarette hanging loose from his thumb and forefinger.

His mother told him to go and even though Zayn wanted to stay he could see it in her eyes that she wasn’t going to make it. Give her a day or two at most and then she’s gone.

If he tries hard enough, Zayn can still smell the sick stench of the sickness that hung heavy in the house when he stopped by a few days later only to find his mother lying on the floor in a pool of her own blood infused vomit.

Even then, home was better than here.

Zayn would take back all the name calling and blind eye his mother took to all of the abuse Zayn’s father sent his way with open arms if it only meant he wouldn’t have to spend another night in this shitty motel.

It’s just that home made Zayn feel grounded; like he had a purpose even if it was small and insignificant. He was going to take over his father’s auto shop and maybe do a little freelance artwork on the side if he had the time and the luck.

But all of that is pretty much shot because by now half the population is sick and dying if they haven’t croaked already and nobody is looking to buy a subpar painting done by a mediocre art student who’d dropped out of their local community college or to get their car fixed by some kid who hasn’t got a single clue about what he’s doing.

There’s nothing Zayn can really do about it now aside from mumbling a barely audible “fuck it” as he tosses his cigarette to the ground and puts it out with the toe of his boot. There’s no use in dwelling on the past and what could have been because it isn’t and it never will be.

As Zayn shoves his hands into the empty pockets of the worn leather jacket he’d lifted from a thrift shop a few towns ago he sighs and looks up toward the second floor of the motel, eyes falling on room 208 where the other guys are probably sitting around discussing their plans for the next day when they’re supposed to be hitting the road again.

Maybe it’s the running that gets him; the constant movement and fear of contamination; As if staying in one spot and settling down is a death wish. Zayn doesn’t understand the issue everyone has with the idea of finding a sense of normality, a home, in the midst of a situation that is so shitty and foreign. But then again it doesn’t seem like anyone really remembers what home is anymore. It’s some distant memory that hurts just to think about because everyone knows if they were to go back right now everything would be in ruins. Home would be empty and vacant or filled with squatters wearing faces you don’t even recognize.

Nobody knows what home is anymore and even if they did it’s probably not the same definition they would have given it a few months earlier.

Now home is the back of a van running on less than half a tank and the hope that another station will come up soon. Or maybe it’s a stolen hotel room they’d lifted the key to off of the guy lying dead behind the desk in the front office.

Either way it’s no longer the place Zayn had left his mother in; lying in the living room, looking nothing like herself, and rotting away like last week’s garbage.

All Zayn knows is that he’s tired of that stupid fucking van and Liam’s constant nagging and Niall’s (slightly comforting) optimism. He’s tired of listening to Louis’ lame sick people jokes and theories about exactly how the virus spreads.

Even now as Harry leans over the guardrail, his messy mop of brown curls skewing Zayn’s view of his face, and calls his name Zayn feels tired. Looking at him just makes Zayn feel tired and sad and tired of feeling sad because Harry was supposed to be going to college in the fall to get a degree in biology. Or maybe it was chemistry, Zayn can’t really remember. He just knows that Harry was on the verge of going places and making something of himself and then the world turned to shit and all those plans got derailed and now Harry is stuck sitting in the backseat of a stolen mini-van running from a virus that he barely understands.

All Zayn knows is that he’s tired and that they all deserve better.

“Zayn!” Harry calls out again and Zayn sighs, scuffs the toe of his boot against the ground.

 “I’m on my way up,” he says. “Just stepped outside for a smoke.”

Harry frowns. “You know that’s not–”

Zayn holds up a hand before Harry can even start with the “smoking kills” and the “you know we’ve all got to stay healthy” bullshit. He’s heard it all before – even prior to the times when being sick was an actual issue – and he doesn’t need to hear it again.

“I’ll be up in a minute,” he repeats, eyeing Harry from where he’s standing in the parking lot.

Harry gives a short nod of his head before returning to the hotel room and then Zayn is kicking a rock to the side while he decides on whether or not he wants to hang around in the parking lot for a few extra minutes.

He likes the quiet out here more than anything. It’s nice not having to deal with Harry wondering about how exactly the virus spreads and how long it can live outside of the human body. It’s nice not to need to deal with Louis’ constant talking and exaggerations about the state of the world and Niall telling him “not to worry about it because everything will be okay.” It’s nice not having to deal with Liam being worried about food and gas and how long they have until the next town.

It’s comforting – sort of like a make shift home away from wherever he is – to be able to stand around a parking lot, smoking a cigarette and pretend like the world isn’t basically over.

It’s a few moments after Harry’s gone back, that Zayn follows suit and finds Liam sitting at the tiny corner table in the  hotel room making a list of things they’ll need to pick up at the next shop they run into while Louis works on a book of crossword puzzles he lifted from a 7-11 a few days back. Harry and Niall are posted in front of the television and it all looks so normal Zayn almost forgets why they’re there.

“You’re back,” Liam says as Zayn shuts the door behind him.

Zayn shrugs. “Didn’t really go anywhere.”

“We’re thinking about hitting the road in the morning.”

Zayn nods, thinks it would be nice to get out of this hotel even though all this running isn’t doing him much better. Liam nods as well and goes back to making his list which sort of annoys Zayn even though he doesn’t know why. Zayn has always had this itching feeling that would scratch and claw from beneath his skin at the mere thought of Liam.

It wasn’t so much that Liam was a terrible person because, in reality, he was quite the opposite. He cared and he wanted to help everyone and keep them safe and he worked damn hard at it. It’s just that Liam was everything Zayn wanted and sort of wished he could be.

Liam had been a business major with a pretty dancer for a girlfriend and parents who were so very proud of everything he had accomplished. He was a member of the university’s honor society and often joined his father for lunch with the dean. Liam was squeaky clean and everything Zayn wasn’t because Zayn had dropped out of community college after two short semesters of classes he’d barely passed because he’d spent all of his time skateboarding and tagging the walls of freeway underpasses with his ex-boyfriend. Zayn smoked too many cigarettes and worked four days a week at a shitty video arcade that no one ever visited.

He and Liam were two completely different people and Liam would never have given Zayn the time of day if the world hadn’t been coming to an end.

And maybe that was the problem.

Maybe it wasn’t that they were different, but the fact that they were too different for Liam to even notice.

It’s that part that makes Zayn’s skin crawl because he’d wanted Liam to notice. He’d hung around campus in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the brown eyes that kept him awake most nights, the ones that replaced the blue-greens of his boyfriend whenever Zayn’s eyes would slip shut just as Nate’s lips would close around the head of his cock. It made Zayn feel guilty and stupid because Liam would never go for a guy like him (if he went for guys at all, but Zayn had heard a few rumors so the prospect wasn’t completely out of the question).

Liam was bright and special and Zayn was absolutely nobody.

But slip in a virus that eats away at you from the inside out and suddenly Liam notices.

Suddenly Zayn matters. Sort of. Not really.

He’s only breathing.

And that’s the saddest, most pathetic part of it all: Zayn is only breathing. It’s the end of the world and Liam is right fucking there staring him right in the face and Zayn is only breathing. He’s nothing special, nothing to really make note of. He’s just some boy from Liam’s hometown who was lucky enough to make it out alive and Zayn is only breathing.

Liam is still this special fucking snowflake who, despite the incessant aching in his chest that tells him to get the fuck over it and move on with whatever life he has left, Zayn feels for all the way down to his very core. It’s stupid and it’s silly and Zayn hates himself for it almost just as much as he feels he  could possibly even love Liam and it doesn’t even matter because it’s the end of the world and when it comes down to it Zayn is only breathing.

“Sounds good,” Zayn says, but Liam’s attention is already elsewhere – back on that fucking list – and Zayn simply rolls his eyes (because, really, what else is new?) as he crosses the room and flops down on the bed. He throws an arm over his eyes and settles into Louis’ mumbles of frustration and the occasional sound of Harry and Niall’s laughter, the incessant scratch of Liam’s pen against paper.

+

When Zayn wakes up the next day it’s nearly noon and he doesn’t know how he could have slept so long. Niall is sitting on the end of the bed stuffing his feet into sneakers he’d stolen from a mall they’d wandered into about a month earlier until he feels Zayn shifting his weight on the bed and turns around to offer a cheerful “good morning.”

“Morning,” Zayn replies rubbing at his eyes. “We headed out soon?”

Niall nods. “Yeah, Liam wants to get on the road in a few, I think. We’re gonna try and find a store off the side of the road or something so we can stock up on food and water. Hopefully we’ll find some gas or something too.”

Zayn sighs, runs his hands through his hair. “Why don’t we just stay here for a bit? It’s not like we have to pay a nightly fee and it’s been good here. We could start over or something, I don’t know.”

Niall smiles sadly. It’s knowing in a way that would be patronizing coming from anyone else, but Zayn understands it to be something kind and sympathetic. Like Niall is telling him that he knows, and he kind of feels the same way, but does Zayn really think that’s an option?

“There’s nothing here,” Niall says, his tone almost annoyingly apologetic. “Nothing here but us…”

“Yeah,” Zayn mumbles, interrupting Niall as he slumps against the headboard of the bed and drags a hand over his face. He hates having to admit to himself that Niall is right; there isn’t anything left and as much as Zayn wants and yearns for some semblance of normalcy, he’ll probably never find it.

Not here. Not now.

They head out about an hour later, Liam climbing behind the wheel and Zayn taking the passenger’s seat after Louis situates himself between Harry and Niall in the back. Zayn can tell he has a thing for Harry’s soft smiles and wild curls and wonders how Louis can get caught up in something so trivial like a schoolboy’s crush when the world is falling apart before their very eyes.

Zayn is almost envious of the distraction, wishing he had something other than the burning ache and the boiling beneath his skin that he feels every time he so much as thinks about Liam. Even now, sitting beside him as they drive down a deserted highway towards nowhere, Zayn can feel the heat inside of him and he wants to jump out of the car and walk away from it all; walk until his feet bleed and he can rid himself of the incessant urgency to both kiss and strangle Liam until neither of them can breathe.

“We need gas.”

Zayn tears his eyes from the window at the sound of Liam’s voice. “Huh?”

Liam glances toward Zayn, nods toward the meter where the arrow has drifted closer to the picture of the empty gas can. “We’re going to have to find a station or something.”

Zayn nods. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

It’s quiet for a moment before Zayn hears Liam sigh, sneaks a peak and sees him tighten his grip on the steering wheel.

“Do you not like me or something?” Liam asks. “Is that it?”

Zayn can see where Louis’ head snaps up from the backseat and Harry’s soft laughter comes to a halt. Niall keeps his eyes trained on the book he’d been reading, but Zayn notices the way his fingers tense up. More than anything, Zayn wants to reach into his back pocket and fish out a cigarette, light it up and calm his nerves because he really hates the attention.

When Zayn doesn’t answer Liam sighs and drops one hand from the wheel and fiddles with the radio (which has been nothing but static since they’d stolen the van) just to give himself something to do.

“It’s just— ”—” Liam stops himself and shakes his head, turning the radio off and returning both hands to the wheel. “NevermindNever mind. Forget I said anything.”

Zayn can see the dejected look on Liam’s face and wonders if it’s because of him or because Liam just hates the feeling of not being liked. Zayn would feel bad if he weren’t so sure it was the latter, but he doesn’t because he knows it is. Zayn just knows that Liam can’t stand the fact that Zayn can’t stand him and it eats at him. In a way that makes Zayn feel a bit better, knowing he can get to Liam like that but it also pisses him off that Liam can hardly look at him when he speaks. Zayn knows he’s driving, but it isn’t like there are other people on the road so maybe looking at Zayn every now and again during conversation – or ever really – shouldn’t be so hard.

So Zayn turns to stare out the window and nods his head. He does exactly as Liam says and forgets all about it.

+

They stop at a quick-e-mart about an hour later in hopes of finding food that hasn’t gone all the way bad, maybe some water to go along with it.

“I’m fucking starving,” Louis says as he climbs out of the van, stretching his arms over his head and hoping that Harry appreciates the small strip of skin that comes into view as his T-shirt rides up.

Zayn rolls his eyes, sliding on a pair of sunglasses. “Aren’t we all?”

Louis turns to face him and grins, his smile bright and beaming in a way that doesn’t really match the times. Where Niall’s optimism is sometimes sad and a bit melancholy, Louis’ sort of brings Zayn back to a point in his life where things weren’t entirely shitty. Sure he didn’t really have much direction in life and things sort of sucked when he used to lie in bed and think about it, but they weren’t completely terrible either. Not really.

It could have been worse.

It could have been this.  

It’s not until Liam joins them, list in hand, that Zayn remembers exactly where he is and that sinking feeling returns to the pit of his stomach.

“I’ve got a list,” Liam says.

“You’ve always got a fucking list,” Zayn mutters under his breath, fingers reaching into his pockets for a pack of cigarettes that isn’t there.

Louis swats Zayn’s shoulder, shoots him a look that tells him to shut his mouth. The slight quirk to his lips gives him away though so Zayn just rolls his eyes and tries to hide the smile that forms on his own mouth.

“We need batteries, food – any food will do, really, but canned goods are probably best – water, toiletries, any medicine or medical supplies you can find…”

He goes on and on, Zayn eventually tuning Liam out until Niall pats Zayn on the shoulder and tells him they’re about to go in.

“You don’t like him do you?” He asks as they make their way toward the entrance.

“Who?” Zayn asks. “Liam?”

Niall nods. “Yeah.”

Zayn shifts his gaze to meet the back of Liam’s head and sighs. It’d be so easy to write it off as pure hatred or aversion, but it isn’t that simple. It’s not like Liam broke his crayons or ripped the head off of his Barbie doll. It’s not as though he’d stolen Zayn’s parking spot and made him late for class. Liam is this odd mixture of jealousy and admiration and extreme revulsion settled low and heavy in Zayn’s belly.  

“It’s not that simple,” Zayn says, running a hand through his hair as Harry holds the door open for everyone.

“It never is,” Niall replies, clapping Zayn on the shoulder before heading off toward the far end of the store where it looks like there might be some toilet paper left over.

+

The last thing Zayn remembers is his little sister blowing out the candles on a vanilla birthday cake covered in bright pink frosting.

That was the last time he can remember smiling because after that it’s nothing but fevers and lesions and hacking coughs that draw blood from lungs that are working way too hard. And then it’s a medically induced coma that ultimately results in his mother pulling the plug because it’s all too much to handle.

But it’s all Zayn can really see when he closes his eyes and remembers a time before long winding roads and not enough food. It’s the vanilla cake with the stupid pink frosting and his sister’s smile because she was so happy to be ten-years-old (“double digits, Zayn!”).

The worst part of it all is that Zayn knows that was the last time now, but he hadn’t known then.

He wishes he had because if he had known that was going to be the last time he’d see his little sister smile – really smile – or if he’d known it would be the last time he’d see his mother look at both of her children with that look said “I did that. These people are mine” Zayn would have taken in a few more of the details; committed a little more of it to memory so he’d have more than just a blurred image of a cake and a few candles shaped like a one and a zero.

+

“I spy with my little eye something that is…”

“Brown?” Zayn interrupts, glancing over his shoulder toward Louis who is still gazing out one of the backseat windows. “Because if you were going to say brown, I’m guessing it’s the endless amount of dirt lounging about outside.”

Louis scoffs and rolls his eyes, his lips curling up into that fond smile he saves just for Zayn. “No,” he answers. “Don’t be a twat. I was gonna say blue.”

“Then it’s the sky,” Zayn responds smugly, grinning back and even though it’s one of those rare moments where he feels almost normal, he can’t help but to notice the slump in Liam’s shoulders while he drives. It reels him back a little, bringing him closer to reality, but Zayn tries his best to make it last; to stay wrapped up in Louis and pretend like he’s only hanging about in the car on the way to some cheap diner or a shitty kickback at someone’s house. Maybe that kid from Louis’ drama class that buys too many packs of cheap beer and not enough halfway decent liquor.

“Or maybe it’s Niall’s shirt,” Louis says.

“You I spied my shirt fifteen minutes ago, mate,” Niall reminds him. “And then Harry said something about it matching your eyes and you said something about it being exactly why you chose it and thanked him for noticing.”

“Smug bastard,” Zayn mumbles around an amused smile as Harry blushes and turns to look out the window.

“Well it does,” Louis says. “You should let me borrow it sometime. Gotta keep my appearance in case we spot any potential mates in this giant wasteland we used to call home.”

Harry giggles, turning to look at Louis with a noticeable amount of adoration while Niall rolls his eyes as he reaches forward to grab his book from the pocket attached to the back of Zayn’s seat. Zayn sort of just watches, feeling a little overcome with a wave of nostalgia because all of this feels so normal. It feels like he really is just home, riding along with his friends on a late Friday afternoon after Louis is finished with classes. It’s the same Louis being flirty with the cute, blissfully naïve, boy with a mop of curly brown hair and bright green eyes who thinks Louis is probably the most interesting person he’s ever met. And maybe he is.

But the radio isn’t going because it’s busted and all Louis can really spy (other than the random odds and ends in the van that everyone already has memorized) is the dirt or the road or the sky. Maybe the sun or the odd cloud as well, but there really isn’t any point. It’s normal, but it’s also not because why would Zayn be riding in the front seat next to Liam who’s had a death grip on the steering wheel since he’d turned around to stop Louis from spying the dirt for the millionth time in the past hour.

“Wish the radio was going,” Liam says quietly about a half hour later, tapping his fingers against the wheel. The van is mostly silent with Niall wearing his headphones while he reads his book and Harry and Louis sleeping next to him.

Zayn is almost surprised he’s speaking. Sort of. He’s noticed that Liam kind of hates the silence and likes to fill with something – even if it’s just the sound of his own voice – when it becomes a little too much to bear.

“It’s been out for a long while, mate,” Zayn answers evenly.

“Yeah… but then you’ve usually got Louis singing something in the back or Harry talking about a cure or the pair of them making heart eyes at one another.”

Zayn can’t help but to grin at the image of Louis serenading the entire van – but mostly Harry – and the blush that always finds the younger boy’s cheeks.

“Feels like that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile,” Liam tells him, looking toward Zayn from the corner of his eye.

Zayn shrugs. “Not much to smile about these days.”

“You’re alive.”

And Zayn shakes his head because even though Liam is technically right he’s also wrong. “No,” Zayn says. “Just breathing.”

+

Liam was a business major. He was smart and popular and people loved him. He had a beautiful girlfriend who he probably would have married if she hadn’t gotten sick and his parents were so proud. He came from money and was safe and he was comfortable and he was bored.

Liam remembers seeing Louis dancing around campus singing show tunes at the top of his lungs, his best friend strolling casually behind him, a cigarette dangling loosely between his fingers and thinking they looked so much freer. Liam remembers thinking that Louis’ best friend was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen and how amazing it would be to know his name.

And Liam heard Louis shout out “Z _ayn_ ” and the boy’s head snapped up and Liam had thought

It’s two weeks before the outbreak and Louis is still dancing and Zayn is still strolling and Liam is still staring and he’s working up the courage to close the distance and introduce himself when his phone buzzes in his pocket and it’s Danielle.

And Liam is safe and he is comfortable and he is bored.

+

“It’s hot,” Louis says, wiping at his forehead with the back of his hand. His hairline is damp with a bit of sweat and if he didn’t care so much about how much it would offend the rest of the boys, Louis is pretty sure he’d strip naked and lie out on the hood of the van.

“It’s hardly 72 degrees,” Zayn tells him. “And there’s a breeze. How could you be complaining about heat?”

“Feels like I’m in fucking sauna, Zayn.”

Harry is sitting next to Louis in the backseat chewing on his bottom lip looking worried. It’s just the three of them in the car while Liam and Niall are out somewhere off the side of the road on a bathroom break.

“That’s all, right?” Harry asked. “Just warm?”

Louis shrugs. “Bit tired, but you know how it is. Heat makes you a bit drowsy doesn’t it?”

There’s a pause and then Harry offers a small nod of his head and a small, tight lipped smile that doesn’t fail to make Zayn’s stomach turn because he knows he’s lying. “Yeah. Nothing to worry about.”

And Louis groans, and turns to fall into Harry’s lap. He snuggles in close, Harry’s fingers instinctively tangling themselves into Louis’ hair before he sighs and whispers something about Louis taking a nap.

Neither of them say anything, but Zayn can see the fear in Harry’s eyes when he looks up.

+

Zayn had tried school, he really did, but it had never been his thing. It wasn’t because he wasn’t smart or capable because he was. Zayn was fantastically capable of excelling in a university setting, he just lacked the motivation. Zayn hated being trapped in a seat or behind a desk and being bogged down with papers filled with words and equations and problems he didn’t really care about.

School, in Zayn’s opinion, had a way of taking the fun out of learning.

He missed it though, sometimes. The atmosphere and the community of being a part of the student body; of knowing people and sharing classes and making friends. He kind of missed plopping into a seat next to Louis and making plans for the weekend while their teacher droned on and on about balancing equations.

But that was high school and they were graduated now and Louis was studying theater at some hot shot university while Zayn has just dropped out of community college and is barely managing a job at a video arcade. Zayn has what his parents consider to be a “low life boyfriend” and impractical dreams of becoming an artist and living off of his talents with a brush, a pencil, or a can of spray paint.

Zayn has been reduced to sitting in on classes at Louis’ school all the while pining after a boy who would probably never give him the time of day.

There’s a class on Tuesdays and Thursdays – biology something-or-other and Zayn likes to sit in the back even though science has never really been his thing. He sits in the back row and Liam always takes the seat three rows down and to the left.

He’s not really sure what the teacher is talking about and he probably fails all the exams he was never supposed to take (he’s not sure because he never goes to office hours to pick them up, but Zayn thinks it’s probably safe to assume). None of that matters much though because sometimes Liam twists in his chair and lets his eyes wander the back half of the classroom and if Zayn tries hard enough he can almost feel Liam’s eyes linger over him a little longer than they do the other students in the room.

And then the professor says something about a pop quiz or asks a question about that day’s reading and Liam is facing forward again and Zayn is left to wonder if that look in Liam’s eyes – the one that lasted a beat or two longer than necessary – was all in his imagination.  

+

It’s kind of hard to ignore when Louis is constantly scratching at his skin and he can’t be in a moving car for more than ten or fifteen minutes without feeling as though he’s about to empty his stomach. Niall gives everyone masks and gloves and Louis is pretty much confined to the backseat of the car with nobody but himself and the voices of the other boys to keep him company, but that doesn’t stop everyone else from feeling a little more than uneasy.

“We have to do something,” Niall says quietly during one of the rare moments when Louis is sleeping.

Zayn keeps his mouth shut. He knows it’s true; that it’s only a matter of time before Louis is nothing but a cold body or before one of them isn’t as careful as they need to be and catches the virus themselves. He knows what they should do – what they need to do – but he can’t look Louis in the eye and say it isn’t personal. Or be honest and admit that it is and do it anyways.

“What do you suggest?” Harry asks dryly. “We can’t abandon him.”

Liam sighs. “We can’t go on like this either, though. It’s only a matter of time before one of us gets sick too. He’s getting worse. Pretty soon masks and gloves won’t be enough.”

Zayn lifts his gaze, his brows knitting together as his eyes meet Liam’s. “So you wanna leave him behind.” He remembers his sister lying lifeless in a hospital bed and his mom, unrecognizably limp on their living room floor, alone, aside from his father who had died upstairs in bed a few days earlier.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

Zayn shakes his head. “No. That’s exactly what you’re saying.”

Niall shifts his weight uncomfortably between his feet and Harry runs his hands through his hair, fighting the urge to cry. Zayn looks toward the van, pictures Louis curled up in a ball, sweating through yet another nightmare. Even though he can’t see him through the thick metal of the car, the image of the unconscious scratching, the lesions covering his skin, and the frightening prospect of Louis choking on his own vomit is all too clear in Zayn’s mind.

And it’s only going to get worse.

“Niall’s right. He can’t—” The words get lost in Zayn’s throat before he can say them. He presses a hand to his mouth, ignores the pressure behind his eyes and draws in a deep breath before continuing. “He can’t go on like this,” he says. “And neither can we.”

Harry’s eyes widen in surprise and Liam is looking at Zayn like he hardly recognizes him.

“You wanna leave him behind?” Niall asks, shocked. He’d suggested it, but he never thought it would actually be an option; that someone would agree and want to go along with it.

“No,” Zayn’s voice breaks at the memory of Louis up on a stage at school singing his heart out to a girl he’d only known for a few short weeks, of Louis dancing around the courtyard or doing drunk karaoke at a cast party. Zayn remembers late nights in his parent’s backyard when Louis would sneak over after Zayn’s parents had gone to bed and they would stay up and talk for hours about anything and everything. He remembers his best friend, the only one he’s ever had, and is killed by the fact that he’s dying in the backseat of a stolen van. “I don’t want to leave him behind,” he says slowly. “But we – he can’t live like this. I won’t let him.”

Liam and Niall and Harry, they’re all silent. Zayn looks back to the van, thinks of Louis sick in the back of it.

They’re all thinking it, but nobody has the heart to say the words out loud.

+

Liam didn’t see his parents when they died.

His mom went first. The coughing started and then the fever came on; the faintest smell of food made her sick. The moment she started scratching, Liam’s father had her sent to the hospital where they’d be able to “take better care of her.”

They never visited. His dad said the risk was just too high and Liam needed to focus on his studies. His mother would be fine. He’d be able to see her when she came home.

‘If she came home,’ Liam wanted to say.

She never did.

His father called and said it was over, she was gone, and hung up before Liam had a chance to respond.

Liam never got a chance to go home because he had finals coming up and a job and a girlfriend and his mind was such a fucking mess. He just needed time to clear his head; a distraction. Something.

And then there was that party and a night Liam so desperately wants to remember, but it’s all such a fucking blur.

There was this virus and it was spreading and by the time Liam was able to turn the key into the lock of his father’s home everyone was gone. His dad was hunched over his desk, eyes wide open and bloodshot and there was no way Liam would be able to lie to himself and believe his father was only sleeping.

+

Louis’ eyes are tired and heavy, but he’s smiling when Zayn opens the door to the van and climbs inside. “Hey,” he says the realization that Louis’ voice is no longer quite his own makes Zayn’s heart break even further than it already has.

“You’re awake,” Zayn replies quietly and Louis nods.

“Too fucking hot to sleep.”

Zayn doesn’t mention that it’s a little past seven at night and it can’t be more than seventy-two degrees outside. Instead, he just nods and runs a gloved hand through his hair. He wishes Harry hadn’t been so angry and sad and bitter, that he hadn’t run off shouting about how Zayn was a fucking traitor and “how dare you abandon your best friend.”

( _“He loves you, Zayn! You’re his best fucking friend, his brother, and you’re just gonna leave him behind like it doesn’t even matter? You’re gonna give up on him just like that?”_ )

He wishes that Harry weren’t so young and naïve and taken by Louis’ vibrant personality. He wishes Harry weren’t so hopeful and that he’d be able to see that Louis was suffering; that this wasn’t Zayn giving up so much as it was giving in.

Zayn loves Louis more than Harry could ever know. He made the world so much less ugly. He understood Zayn in a way that nobody else did and he was too special to die in the back of a fucking van.

As much as he didn’t want to let him go, Zayn knew that Louis deserved better than a puddle of his own sick. He deserved better than dying cold and drenched in sweat. He knew that Louis deserved to die at the hand of someone who loved him.

Zayn looks at Louis, looks at the wry, tired smile that still somehow manages to warm his soul and wishes he didn’t love him at all.

“I –” Zayn stops himself, sighs heavily and then meets Louis’s gaze because he isn’t going to be a coward. He’s going to say it to Louis’ face. “You’re not getting any better.”

Louis’ laugh is dry, breaking off with a harsh cough that leaves a bit of blood at the corners of his mouth. “I know,” he says. “When I woke up I could see you guys talking through the window. The look on Harry’s face – on yours – I knew it was about me.”

Zayn nods, looks down at the worn upholstery of the car’s seats. “Lou –”

“Zayn,” Louis interrupts, and when Zayn doesn’t answer he pushes himself up on his elbows and says his name again, a bit more forcefully. “Zayn,” he repeats. “Look at me. It’s just me. I know it may not look like it, but I’m still here.”

Zayn looks up and Louis just looks so tired. There are dark circles around his eyes and they’re sunken in and bloodshot. His skin is pale and dry and covered in scratch marks and lesions. But his smile, although tired and a bit forced, is all the same and Zayn knows Louis is still in there somewhere. He just has to look a little deeper.

“It’s just me,” Louis says. “You can tell me.”

“I – I don’t want you to die in the back of a van,” Zayn says. “Out here. Alone. I know we’re all here and we talk to you, but you’re still alone. You’re not with us and I don’t want that for you. You deserve better.”

Louis sighs, falls back onto the seat. “It’ll get better,” he reasons. “Just give it a few days and –”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Zayn tells him. “Don’t lie to me. You knew it was over the moment you got sick. You don’t want me to put on a show for you, fine. But at least give me the same respect.”

Louis nods. “Okay, fine.” A pause, and then “Are you guys gonna leave me here?”

Zayn shakes his head. “No.”

“Then what?”

Zayn doesn’t answer right away. He closes his eyes, thinks of the cool metal Liam had picked up a few towns back and the handful of bullets stored in the glove compartment. He thinks of himself and Louis locked away in the storeroom of the hardware store they’re parked in front of, his finger on the trigger just before he says goodbye.

“Don’t make me say it,” Zayn begs. “You know what I’m thinking. Please don’t make me say it.”

“Alright,” Louis tells him.

When Zayn opens his eyes again Louis is looking back at him and if Zayn isn’t mistaken, he looks relieved. Louis smiles at him then and, even though it’s still so very tired, Zayn thinks it’s the first time it’s looked completely genuine.

“I should go,” Zayn says a few moments later. “Tell them that you know. That it’s okay.”

Louis nods as Zayn shuffles over towards the door and tugs it open. He’s standing outside of the van, a few seconds from closing the door behind him when he hears Louis call his name.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks,” he says and Zayn knows it’s for understanding. For not making Louis ask for it. Zayn shakes his head, fights back the tears pushing at the corners of his eyes and curses himself for loving his friend too much.

“Don’t worry about it,” Zayn says and closes the door behind him.

+

“You were there,” Liam says when Zayn approaches him in the parking lot.

“What?”

Zayn sighs, drags a hand over his face before reaching into his back pocket for a pack of cigarettes that is already three quarters empty.

“That night. At the party. My mom had just died and Danielle was sick and – I don’t know. You were there.”

Louis’ cast party. The backyard and the stars and Zayn’s hand on Liam’s shoulder and everything had been so vulnerable. Liam was drunk and rambling and he was so ugly when he cried but, in that moment, Zayn didn’t think he could have been more beautiful.

“Yeah,” Zayn tells him.

“I – I don’t even remember most of what happened, but I remember you were there.”

Zayn wants to hit him. He wants to punch Liam in the face for bringing this up now when Louis is on the verge of death and Harry hates him. He wants to hate Liam for being so fucking selfish and thinking this could somehow still be about him; that Zayn could be so consumed that he’d temporarily put everything on hold just to know that Liam had somehow managed to finally notice him.

The sad part is that Zayn kind of would; that he kind of already is.

“Doesn’t matter now,” Zayn says with a shrug of his shoulders. “That was a long time ago and – it really doesn’t matter now.”

“But it does. I mean – it should, shouldn’t it? You were there for me then and we hardly knew each other and now we’re here and I… I mean there’s Louis and – I don’t know. I feel like it means something. Like maybe I could be there for you, too.”

Liam is looking at Zayn with big eyes and he’s asking so many questions that Zayn can’t even begin to understand or find the answers to. And suddenly Zayn is angry because this is just so _Liam_. This is him needing to be righteous and wanting to return the favor not because he wanted to, but because he felt like he needed to even the score.

“Are you serious? You think that you have to hold my hand and tell me everything is going to be okay because I did the same for you while you were drunk at a cast party? I don’t need your pity, Liam.”

“It’s not pity,” Liam tells him.

Zayn scoffs, inhaling nicotine before exhaling smoke up towards the night sky. “Yeah? Then what is it?”

Liam sighs and shrugs his shoulders because he isn’t really sure of what to call it. He doesn’t know what to call anything because everything seems so finite and fragile. Nothing ever seems to last anymore, so giving anything a name is pretty much pointless. But then there’s Zayn and Liam isn’t really sure of what he is or what this relationship he has with him (if you could call it a relationship at all) means, but he feels like it’s a little more permanent than everything else around him.

“Friendship,” Liam answers, prompting Zayn to look in his direction with wide eyes and a furrowed brow. Liam smiles something small and shrugs his shoulders as his cheeks tinge pink. “Or, I don’t know, something like it.”

Zayn pauses, eyes Liam carefully, then nods as he fishes the box of cigarettes from his pocket before offering one to Liam. He doesn’t know why he does it because he’s still a little bit angry, but Liam is there and he looks so fucking hopeful and Zayn doesn’t have the heart to say no.

And even though he doesn’t really smoke, Liam takes one anyways.

+

Harry doesn’t say anything, just look at Zayn like a wounded puppy. His eyes are wide and hoping and Zayn wants nothing more than to toss the gun aside and tell him that it’s okay; they’ll figure something out. He wants Harry to smile and ramble on and on about a cure and he wants to hear Niall laugh and crack a few more jokes. Zayn wants to look at the van and see Louis climbing out of the backseat with sleep rumpled hair complaining about a crick in his neck and how he wishes he could get a cup of decent coffee. He’s almost wishing Liam would go back to barely acknowledging his existence instead of this weird thing he has going on now where he’s looking at Zayn like he understands him better than anyone else in the group.

Zayn just wants things to go back to the way they were because that was what made the most sense. Zayn doesn’t understand the gun in his hand, the wounded look in Harry’s eyes or the despondent look on Niall’s face. He doesn’t know how to respond to the odd comfort of Liam’s hand on his shoulder.

The only thing Zayn does understand is Louis’ wish not to die scared and alone, but he really wishes he didn’t.

“I’m gonna –”

Zayn cuts himself off and Liam nods. Niall folds his arms over his chest and Harry heaves out a sigh as he fights back tears.

Zayn’s walking to the van and he knows that even though everything ended a long time ago, it’s really over now and there isn’t any going back.  

+

In the end Louis was tired and ready even though Zayn wasn’t.

He didn’t say much – not hello or goodbye – but he asked Zayn to hold his hand.

And when he pulled the trigger Zayn remembers thinking Louis’ hands were so clammy and cold, like he was gone before he even left.

But his smile. That was warm.

+

Three days later and they’re miles away from where they’d put Louis in the ground, from the flowers they’d placed on the small pile of dirt in the grass. The van is that much quieter, Harry is that much less optimistic, and Niall’s words of encouragement are few and far between.

The back of the van still smells like Louis and Zayn can’t seem to get the image of that warm, melancholy smile out of his mind.

“There’s a motel coming up soon,” Harry says as they pass by a sign on the highway. “Maybe we should stop. Rest up for a while or something.”

Liam taps his fingers on the steering wheel, Niall stares out the window and Zayn runs his fingers through his hair with a heavy sigh.

Louis – Zayn just can’t stop thinking of him – Louis would have agreed, made some obnoxious comment about trying to find a liquor store to raid so they could have a party in the motel room.

Or maybe he would have taken Harry’s hand and smiled at him soft and sweet before telling him that would be a swell idea.

No one knows, and they never will because Louis is a little less than six feet in the ground miles and miles away and he won’t be joining them any time soon.

“How many miles?” Liam asks.

Harry scratches his head. “I think ten? The sign said something like ten or fifteen.”

“Okay.”

Normally they’d be coming up with a game plan – how long they plan on staying, what they would do while they were there – but the van is mostly just silent aside from the odd cough or heavy exhale.

Plans just don’t seem practical anymore because everything is so subject to change.

Nothing is promised, nothing is guaranteed. It all sort of just happens.

+

The motel is small and quiet and the keys for all the rooms are still in the front office, so Liam just grabs one for a room on the ground floor.

“Guess we’ll all just rest up for now and figure out a game plan tomorrow morning?” Liam asks.

“Yeah,” Niall says. “Sounds good.”

“Whatever,” Zayn replies, flops down on the bed before closing his eyes.

Harry shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “I’m gonna go for a walk.”

And then he’s gone.

+

Harry liked Louis. Maybe he could have loved him someday but he isn’t sure; that had never really happened for him. All Harry knew was that Louis made him feel like he was floating and that he definitely liked him.

Louis had this way about him that made Harry want to save the world because someone as bright as Louis needed to shine and that simply wasn’t possible in a world filled with darkness and sickness and death.

“I’m gonna find a cure,” Harry said one night when everyone else was sleeping and it was just him and Louis lying outside on the concrete staring at the stars. It was one of those times when it was almost easy to pretend that everything wasn’t so scary. It was easy to pretend that Louis was just this boy Harry was crushing on who was probably crushing back and maybe, just maybe, he might take Harry’s hand and never let go.

“Really? A cure? You think you could do that?” Louis asked him.

Harry shrugged his shoulders and turned his head to the side so he could meet Louis’ gaze. His eyes were so blue, even in the dark, and his expression was so warm. He reminded Harry of springtime and a time when he was so happy he could die. Louis gave him that and Harry just wanted to save him.

“I don’t know,” Harry answered. “But I want to.”

“How?”

Louis was looking at him like he wanted answers, but not like he was pushing. It was more just like he was curious and wanted so desperately for Harry to be it.

And Harry wanted to be it too.

“I don’t know.” It was all Harry could really think to say. Louis was still looking at him though and he was still smiling, so Harry knew he wasn’t all that disappointed. He understood and that was all Harry could really ask for, so he smiled back and took Louis’ hand in his and looked back at the stars in the hopes that Louis wouldn’t see him blush.

“I don’t know, Louis, but maybe you could help me do it.”

Louis laughed and it was one of the happiest, prettiest things Harry had ever heard before or after the outbreak. “Me?” He asked. “All I’m good for is singing and dancing and making inappropriate jokes.”

And Harry thought, _No. You’re so much more than that._

But he didn’t say it. He should have, but he didn’t and he wishes so much that he had just so Louis would know.

“You could keep me company then?”                    

There was a pause and for a moment Harry thought he’d said the wrong thing, but then Louis smiles at him again and it feels like sunflowers and it almost smells like rain in the middle of April and despite everything Harry felt so happy.

Louis leaned over and kissed Harry’s cheek, letting go of his hand so he could run his fingers through his curls. He looked like he believed in him and Harry wanted so badly to be able to save him.

“I could do that,” Louis told him.

But he can’t. And he won’t. Because spring time is over, fall passed them by. Suddenly it’s winter and Harry feels so cold.

+

Hope is a fickle thing.

Zayn thinks of it like his sister and her birthday candles. How she’d closed her eyes and made a wish and hoped that it would come true even though she was old enough to know that simply wishing doesn’t really make it so.

He thinks it’s kind of like how he’d just assumed he would see her blow out her candles again the next year and the year after that. How he’d hoped without hoping and it was all so fickle.

It was and then it wasn’t.

He wonders what she’d wished for and if it would have come true if things had somehow happened differently.

Harry had hope and so did Niall and then Louis died and all of the sudden they didn’t. Zayn didn’t even realize that was the case until he heard the gunshot.

And then Liam was rushing out the door to their motel room and there he was.

There was so much blood.

Harry had so much hope in the beginning. He was going to find a cure and Louis was going to keep him company. Louis smiled at him and it made him think of a life after where they’d lie out in the grass and feel the sun on their skin and Louis would sing him show tunes and Harry would make up stories about all of the figures he’d find in the clouds.

Hope is a fickle thing because Harry had so much of it and then Louis got sick and all of the sudden it was gone.

And so was he.

+

Zayn knew it was always going to come down to this because nothing ever really lasts. You can only run away for so long before everything catches up with you and when that eventually happens (and it always does) you kind of just have to face the music.

Liam is the one who hears it. Or at least he’s the one to fit all the pieces together.

Niall’s first instinct is to call it firecrackers, but once Liam is racing through the door to their hotel room he realizes that can’t be the case because they’re the only ones there.

And Zayn hears “ _Harry!_ ”

And Niall is running through the door after Liam while Zayn is dragging a hand over his face in a lame attempt to fight the sleep that’s trying to win him over.

Not firecrackers.

Zayn is up within seconds, but it’s already too late and it has been for a little over three minutes.

There’s blood all over the backseat and Niall is kneeling on the ground with his face in his hands and Liam is just standing and staring like he can no longer fit all the pieces together.

Harry and a gun and a bullet to the head. Louis has been gone for what feels like forever, but also no time at all and it’s not just this virus that’s killing everyone off. Not anymore.

“He –”

Liam is looking at Zayn for answers, but all Zayn can do is open and close his mouth like a fish out of water. He stares, eyes wide and disbelieving, until he can no longer stand the expression on Liam’s face and the sound of Niall’s choked off cries so Zayn runs a hand through his hair and says something about finding cleaner.

“I think I saw some in the office.”

Zayn doesn’t cry until the door is shut behind him and He’s sure Liam and Niall won’t be able to see or hear him. He sinks to the floor and buries his head between his knees and sobs. He didn’t know Harry nearly as well and they weren’t nearly as close, but Zayn feels like this is so much worse than Louis.

It’s worse because Harry’s blood is staining the backseat and he wasn’t even sick; he wasn’t dying.

He had hope and then he didn’t and now he’s gone.

+

“I don’t know if it means anything now, but I’d seen you around before then,” Liam says.

“What?” Zayn lifts his head, looks at Liam like he isn’t even speaking English because right now it kind of feels like he isn’t.

“Before the party? I’d seen you and Louis was there and he was singing and being obnoxious and you were just…” Liam sighs, shakes his head. He doesn’t know what he’s saying or why he’s saying it, but it’s one of the few times he’s really being honest with himself and he wants to get it right. “You were there. Kind of like you were at the party. I saw you and I just thought – wow, you know? There was something about you that made me feel… better. Like if I just knew your name or got the chance to be around you, I wouldn’t be so lost anymore.”

Zayn is quiet for a while. He wants to hate Liam the way he’s always just wanted to hate him, but it’s too much energy to even try doing that anymore. There isn’t really a point because it’s only them now and this endless amount of space and hating the only person you have left is kind of stupid.

“You never said anything.”

“I didn’t know how.”

“You could have just told me.”

Liam nods. “You could have too. Even if it was just the bit about the party. We were both there. We both could have said something.”

And Liam’s right and Zayn is such a fucking hypocrite because all this time he’s been mad at Liam for not noticing and not doing a fucking thing and Zayn has been sitting here doing the same exact thing.

“I know.”

It goes without saying that it doesn’t really matter anymore.

“You knew me before then too, though,” Liam says. “Right?”

Zayn nods. “Yeah.”

The word feels so heavy on his tongue and somehow Zayn knows that Liam can feel its weight. He doesn’t say anything though. He just hums in agreement and lets the silence do the rest of the talking.

+

Zayn didn’t think he would miss Niall as much as he does.

They were friends, but they had never been close. Then again, Niall was one of the four people Zayn had left to rely on in the world and, aside from Liam, the other two were dead.

So when he left Zayn was sadder than he’d imagined he would be and he found himself missing the optimism and the quiet heart eyes he used to send Harry’s way. He missed the understanding in Niall’s voice whenever Zayn was feeling down and had a hard time finding positivity in the world. The way he used to sneak stale cigarettes into Zayn’s jacket pocket because he knew Harry didn’t approve and that Liam had the idea that searching for cigarettes was a waste of time.

Like Louis, Niall had been sort of a constant, a little bit of the glue that held Zayn together, and he hadn’t even realized it.

 _The van smells like Louis,_ Niall wrote, _and Harry’s blood isn’t coming out of the seats and I just don’t think I can do it anymore. As much as I’ve grown to love you guys, I can’t stand the sadness in your eyes.  I don’t like looking at you and wondering who’s going to go next._

Zayn had read the letter three times before he’d handed it over to Liam who was now just staring at the wrinkled piece of paper Niall had written it on. He looks at Liam and knows it’s just the two of them now and wonders how long they have left before one of them starts coughing.

Zayn wonders if it turns out to be Liam, how much he’d miss him and if Liam would miss him too.

“They’re all gone,” Liam says once he’s done reading.

Zayn nods, thinks of his mom and his dad and his sister; of Nate and Louis and Harry’s brains covering the backseat. “Everyone leaves,” he says. “Eventually.”

Liam turns to look at Zayn and when Zayn looks back he can see the pinks and the purples dancing with the warm oranges of the sunset and it’s almost like things are normal. But he can also see the trash lying around the empty parking lot their standing in, smell the sickness in the air and he knows that isn’t really the case.

“That’s not true,” Liam says and he’s looking at Zayn with these sad, brown eyes like he can’t believe that Zayn could actually feel that way; like he’s alone.

“My parents did. And my sister. Louis and Niall and Harry. They’re all gone, Liam.”

Liam nods, sighs heavily as he runs a hand over his hair. “Yeah, but… you still have me,” he says, looking up. His eyes are hopeful, like he’s praying that Zayn won’t tell him that he’s wrong. Or worse, that he doesn’t need Liam at all.

“How do you know?” Zayn asks, his voice small and scared. He’s looking at Liam like he’s hoping too, even though he doesn’t want to.

“Because I’m here,” Liam says. “And you’re here and I – I don’t plan on going anywhere. Not if I can help it.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks. He looks at Liam and then he looks at the sky and then he looks at everything else around him and realizes how different they really are. Liam’s looking at the sunset and seeing all the pretty colors mixing and mingling together. He sees the silver lining and hopes to whatever higher power there may be that it will eventually make all the trash littering the ground a little less ugly; make the smell of sick in the air a little more bearable.

And Zayn both admires and pities Liam. He wishes he had Liam’s optimism in the same way he’d wished he’d had Niall’s. He wishes he could see the sunset and not feel bitter. He wishes he could stop waiting for everyone to die and just appreciate the time he has left instead of waiting for it to run out.

“I have you,” Zayn says and the words feel bitter on his tongue because it would happen this way. Liam would be standing right in front of him at the end of the world staring a Zayn and seeing him – really seeing him – for the very first time. Liam _would_ finally fucking notice, finally look at Zayn and _know,_ when there was nothing that could be done about it. Liam _would_ look at Zayn and have this urge to stay when he doesn’t have any other choice but to leave or be left.

Liam nods. “You do.”

“You’re gonna leave,” Zayn tells him sadly. He feels like crying and it’s pathetic and weak, Zayn knows it, but he really can’t help it. “Not because you want to, but because… that’s just what happens. You’re either gonna get sick and die or I’m gonna get sick and make you leave me behind.”

Zayn can feel the burning behind his eyes, the hot pressure of emotion, and he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. He draws in a deep breath and exhales a large sob that makes his chest hurt.

“I don’t –” Zayn cuts himself off and tries to steady his breathing. He can’t look at Liam when he says it, so he looks at the ground instead. “I can’t lose anyone else, Liam. I can’t – My parents and my sister and Louis… and then Harry.” There’s an old cheeseburger wrapper next to his shoe and Zayn thinks the whole world is so fucking ugly. “And then there’s you and I’ve just – You’ve been somewhere inside me for so long and now you’re just here and you want to stay and you can’t promise me that, Liam. You can’t promise me you won’t go and I don’t think I’ll be able to take it when you do.”

“So you’d rather be alone,” Liam says, looking for some kind of clarification because he isn’t sure what Zayn is getting at.

Zayn starts to say yes, but then snaps his mouth shut because that isn’t entirely true. On one hand it sort of is because Zayn is terrified. He’s terrified of being left behind and not having a choice in the matter, so he figures he might as well make the decision for himself; just cut Liam off before fate has the chance to do it for him.

But then there’s that tiny flicker of hope in Liam’s eyes, the pinks and the oranges swirling together in the sky that Zayn both envies and pities and sort of makes him want to try as well. There’s that bit of him that loves Liam more than he hates him for noticing all too late when there is so little left to live for.

Because in the end Zayn had always known it would be Liam. It would always be them standing around in a trash littered parking lot trying to figure out their next move.

So Zayn says “No” and sighs before shrugging his shoulders and adding “I don’t know.”

Liam steps forward, wraps his arms around Zayn’s shoulders as he pulls him in for a hug. He smells like sweat and something sweet Zayn can’t quite put his finger on, but it kind of feels like that little bit of home Zayn’s been looking for since he left.

“Then come with me,” Liam says, his lips moving against the skin of Zayn’s neck. “Stay with me.”

He pulls back and Zayn can see the fear and the hope and the honesty in Liam’s eyes. “I don’t know what it is, but I was just – I felt so lost before. Before I saw you that day when Louis was singing and then at the party and then… I don’t know. You make me feel better. I can’t – even if it’s just for a little while, I wanna be with you for as long as I can.”

There’s that pressure behind his eyes again and then Liam’s forehead resting against his own and his hands on Zayn’s cheeks and Zayn just says “fuck it” and lets the tears fall.

“I’m so scared,” Zayn whispers. “I don’t know what to do.”

Zayn thinks of the cigarette burns on his arms and how they remind him of a home that isn’t quite home anymore. He thinks of how there is no home anymore – at least not right now – and how maybe, just maybe, he’s being given the chance to find that with Liam.

And maybe that’s the silver lining, the pinks swirling with the purples and the oranges.

“Stay,” Liam says, and he’s so close their lips are brushing. Liam’s lips are chapped and feather light against Zayn’s and when he inches a bit closer the pressure is soft and barely there, but it steals the breath from Zayn’s lungs all the same.

His cheeks are wet and his eyes burn, but when he opens them Liam is looking at him like he wouldn’t want to be seeing anyone or anything other than Zayn.

“Okay,” Zayn tells him because in the end he always knew it would be Liam huffing out a breath of relieved laughter and wrapping his arms around Zayn’s shoulders and burying his face into his neck. He always knew it would be Liam holding him together when he felt so much like falling apart.

Because in the end it would be Liam who wrapped his arms around Zayn smelling like sweat and a sweetness that made Zayn feel like he was finally going home.


End file.
